Page 143 of Underground Prince

Me: Everything okay so far?

After a few moments, a response came.

Theo: Fine. Trace is coming, though. Not sure why. Something’s up.

Some seconds later, he followed up with:

Theo: Stay away. Please.

I sucked in a gulp as I read. It worked. I sent a quick text to Kai to let him know Trace was in. Last minute, yes, but at least their damned golden goose was being delivered.

We stopped at a deserted intersection, parallel to the water which was maybe a quarter mile away. Small dots flickered in the distance, man-made stars cresting across the river, the cityscape spotlighting where Theo would be standing. Could already be.

“We’re here,” I said unnecessarily. “Turn the headlights off.”

Noah did as asked. “This is ludicrous. What is it you’re hoping to accomplish again?”

“Something’s off with this meet. I don’t know why, but there’s a warning in me saying Theo can’t be left alone. No one is here for him. Not the agents, not his brother, certainly not the drug peddlers. He’s out there with zero protection.”

“And what kind of shield are you going to provide?” Noah asked. “I hate that the person you care for is out there, probably walking into a trap, but Scarlet…even soul mates aren’t bulletproof.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like Nate.”

“Who?”

“The U.S. Attorney. The one who thinks he can plan a takedown flawlessly. There’s too many variables. Trace is a sociopath, Gordon is a psychopath, and Theo’s—”

“Not stupid. Of everything you’ve told me about him, being all dopey and wide-eyed when bounding into a million-dollar drug transfer isn’t one of them.”

“He’s been alone his entire life,” I said with fierce resolve. “I’m not about to make him believe that’s his destiny.”

“Fate should not be talking to me right now. Your rational brain, which I know is in there, should be taking charge. Why risk your safety—why put him at risk, by going in? We’re talking the potential of mortal combat here,” Noah said.

I hesitated. “You would do the same. If it was Cassie, you would.”

He slammed his palms into the steering wheel. Answer enough.

“Cassie isn’t the son of a violent crime boss,” he surprised me by saying, then said, softer still, “She’d be disappointed in you for doing this.”

“She’s been disappointed in me all year,” I retorted as the light changed. “Now drive.”

Noah spun the wheel right, and we passed through an open gate with barbed wire looping the top. We crawled to a stop behind a metal warehouse large enough to house boats for repair, and well away from the docks.

A clicking sound had me glaring suspiciously at him, one hand on the passenger-side lever.

“Child lock,” he explained. “We’re watching from here.”

“No we are not—”

“Scar! God—damn it—” he said, pushing at me as I crawled over him to reach for the button. I’d fight him. I’d bite and kick if he left me in here. “No!”

“You let me out of this car—”

I found the button and pushed. Flying back to my seat, I opened my mouth to give him quick hell.

A crack sounded against Noah’s driver side window, so petrifying that all I could do was draw in a silent scream.

Heart palpitating, I registered who it was. Black gloves. Long sleeves.

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